Enough of this sweltering heat. As the Americans say, stick a fork in me, I'm done. For days now, the energy efficiency thermometer developed by my Uncle Roger and taped to the fridge has been imploring us, in Comic Sans MS, to "turn your heating down" because it is "TOO HOT". I am cooking from the inside out.

As a teenager, I once committed the fatal mistake of lying out on my dad's lawn slathered from head to toe in baby oil, turning occasionally like a rotisserie chicken. Needless to say, my pale British skin learned an important lesson during that brief Welsh summer (a rarity, despite my dad's partner's insistence that the Lleyn Peninsula has its own microclimate thanks to the apparent presence of the elusive "Abersoch jet stream"). I am not made for this weather, and neither, it seems, are the British people, who have been stripping off and taking to Tesco in their droves, much to the disapproval of its Cornwall staff, who are imploring holidaymakers to please, please, put their clothes back on.

There are some who might say that, if you can't take the heat, then get out of the kitchen (or Westminster – even Nick Clegg hasn't been able to resist padding around barefoot). But the same applies to the bedroom, the living room and the hall. Supermarkets, with their freezer compartments and their air conditioning are the only refuge. A recent trip to my local Tesco confirms this. It was teeming with people nonchalantly pretending to look at stuff. Some of them were practically in the fridges. None of them seemed to be buying anything. Most of them, however, were wearing clothes.

This is not the case for supermarkets near the beach. People have, apparently, been sauntering in for their Soleros shoeless, not to mention topless. Tesco are asking that people cover up not, it seems, because of the gross-out factor of knowing that a stranger has coated your cherry tomatoes in a mist of cidery sweat, but because "we want all of our customers to feel comfortable when shopping". Having never been to Tesco in Newquay, I can only imagine what states of undress those of a delicate sensibility have been subjected to, and what I am imagining are Speedos. Speedos and thong bikinis.

Perhaps it is to protect the staff. The constant parade of tanned, half-naked beauties must be sending them into fevers of erotic frenzy. Unless, of course, Tesco are taken aback by the fact that none of the half-naked Brits browsing the aisles come close to resembling the toned, buff, oily bodies visible on the front covers of the magazines they stock. The Lose the Lads Mags campaign is pressuring Tesco to implement pretty much this exact policy, also in the name of customers feeling comfortable, or at least comfortable enough to browse the newspapers and magazines without being confronted with a close-up of a woman's arse or tits. The only difference is that it applies to two-dimensional people rather than three. But when it comes to real-life nudity, we all know that our levels of comfort are directly proportional to just how attractive we find the naked person.

We'll happily ogle anyone we find easy on the eye, but as soon as it's someone we find physically unattractive – perhaps someone who is lobster-red or has a bit too much jiggle in their wiggle – the hypocrisy begins to show. The only solution, as Tesco sees it, is an across the board anti-nudity policy. Which is fine, I suppose. I suspect Cornish supermarkets must be cleaner than those in London, where they always seem to be coated in a perpetual layer of grime necessitating that one is well-shod at all times.

But another part of me thinks: let the British have their summer. We have no idea how to dress for the climate, but I'd rather that than a nation decked out in espadrilles, white linen suits, and panamas, like gung-ho 1930s colonials taking their style inspiration from BBC foreign correspondents. We take our fashion notes from the dominant cultural forces of softcore porn and MTV Base. It is too damn hot to do anything else and it will, of course, be fleeting. Except, perhaps, in the tropical climes of Abersoch. So I say: go forth and nudify! Just make sure you leave your hat on.